Happily Ever After: A Romance Collection

by Amelia Wilde

  Izzy wore a light blue dress, totally inappropriate for a funeral. Then again, I doubted she was truly aware of where she was. Or why. That explained the dress, and the bare legs in spite of the freezing rain, and…

  "Oh shit," I murmured.

  "What's wrong?" Willa hissed, leaning in.

  "Izzy's barefoot."

  Willa looked over and rolled her eyes. "Oh Lord. Where are her shoes?"

  "No idea." I shook my head.

  With no more eulogies, the priest had stepped in to do his part. “… to his eternal rest,” he intoned.

  “That sounds like something Gideon would have hated,” I muttered.

  “Ssh.” Willa bowed her head.

  I squirmed in my seat. I tried to look anywhere else, think about anything else. But Izzy’s bare, dirty toes were seared into my retinas.

  I leaned over to whisper in my friend’s ear. “I have a pair of gym sneakers in my car. I’m going to go grab them for her.”

  “Don't worry about it,” Willa whispered back. “I’m sure she wore shoes here. She probably just left them in a corner somewhere.”

  I glanced at Izzy again. "Maybe? Maybe not. I want her to have the option, though."

  "Don't try to adopt her now," Willa warned.

  “You’re telling me not to adopt someone?” I had to smile. “How many packs of tissues are in your purse, Mom?”

  Willa licked her lips. “Seven?” She spread her hands. “I knew you guys would forget.”

  “Safe bet,” Sadie chimed in, pulling her usual trick of looking like she wasn’t paying attention to anything, but missing nothing.

  "I'm just getting shoes for her," I protested. A little too loudly.

  Willa's mouth twitched.

  I ducked away from the disapproving faces turned our way. “Look, I’m not trying to take care of her just because Gid is gone and she has no -.” I caught myself, unwilling to keep following that train of thought. “Look I have shoes. She needs shoes. It’s a no-brainer.” I stood up, then hunched back down again to hiss, "If it ends before I'm back, tell Claire where I went.

  Willa shook her head. But Sadie wiped her nose, then gave me a nod.

  I scooted around Willa and rushed toward the back door, intending to be quick. I spent a few confused seconds searching through the coatroom, until I remembered to look for my too-thin, black woolen coat.

  My warm, puffy snow jacket would have definitely been more comfortable in this weather. But the bright purple color had seemed… disrespectful.

  I fumbled at the unfamiliar buttons. Frustrated perspiration started prickling at my hairline and I gave up with a growl. Fuck it. My anger will keep me warm.

  I strained at the door, fighting the wind to get it open. A shower of stinging ice whipped my face as I rushed down the stairs to the parking lot.

  Right as a car came screeching in.

  2

  Ruby

  I jumped back with a yelp.

  Then scowled.

  Crown Creek was a small town. And I was a small-town teacher. Parent or child, I knew every single person that lived here. Those who I didn’t talk to regularly, I still knew well enough to greet with a wave.

  So when I didn’t recognize the car, I found myself irritated by the careless driving of a lost stranger.

  Then…

  Then it dawned on me who it was behind the wheel.

  Out-of-state plates marked the driver of the sleek vehicle as an outsider just as much as the shiny glaze of newness that still clung to his car. Even the mud splattered up from the wheel wells looked fake. Like it had been applied by a Hollywood makeup artist who knew nothing at all about real, honest dirt.

  The person driving this car was an outsider for sure.

  But he was no stranger.

  My mouth filled with the taste of bitter pennies as I watched him circle the lot.

  Once.

  Then a second time.

  I clenched my fists as I watched him search for a place. With every breath, my heart raced faster. Frustration, grief, and worry spun around in my head, crashing into each other until a new emotion was born.

  Fucking rage.

  I stalked down the stairs and into the middle of the lot, then planted myself there. The wind whipped around me, but I ignored it. Let the ice hit my bare head and freeze my hair into stiff spikes. I would stand guard. I would protect the Kings - the family I loved like my own. I would shield their grief from his selfish attention-seeking.

  He wasn’t getting by me.

  Fuck him. Fuck him if he thought he was going to rush in and interrupt the service like some hero. He could wait ’til it was over. He could live with the fact he'd missed it.

  Like hell was I going to let Jonah King make this funeral all about him.

  I waited. And watched.

  The car sat silent at the end of the row, half in the lot, half on the sidewalk. Dead leaves skittered across the pavement and then up into the gray November sky. But the heat of my anger had me warm enough that it could have been a blazing hot day in June.

  I took a breath, ready to storm down to the car and confront him.

  But before I could attack, the door opened.

  I’d expected it. Seeing him again.

  But expecting Jonah and seeing Jonah were two different things. All at once, he was in front of me - in the flesh and larger than life.

  For a half a second, my anger was knocked sideways, leaving breathless surprise in its place.

  But it wasn’t his looks that had me gasping. I was familiar with the handsomeness of Jonah King. The tabloid with his face on the cover had been sitting in the dentist's office for the last six months, staring at me every time I had my check-up.

  The King Brothers had broken up over two years ago, but his solo career was still on the rise. He'd opened a leg of Wreckage's US tour. He’d played music festivals all summer long. He’d even had a few movie cameos.

  His celebrity was impossible to avoid. He was the biggest star our town had ever produced.

  He was also my best friend’s oldest brother. And my mentor’s nephew.

  I knew him. I knew where he came from. And his face was as familiar to me as my own.

  No, his appearance wasn’t what surprised me about Jonah King.

  It was his gall.

  Two years he’d stayed away. Two years of no contact with his family. Two years with his back turned on his hometown. Two years without ever dropping by to see his proud uncle, or visit the music room while he taught class.

  Did he really think he could just walk right back into our lives again now that Gid was dead?

  Anger tightened my chest. "You missed it," I called across the lot.

  He stopped short. "Ruby," he exhaled, taking me in. "You cut your hair."

  I had a brief flash of pleasure-tinged confusion that he’d noticed. But I crossed my arms over my chest all the same. "The priest is giving the blessing," I went on as if he hadn't interrupted. "Your dad already gave the eulogy, so..." I trailed off, distracted.

  He was fifty yards away from me, across a bitterly cold parking lot. But I could still feel it.

  That magnetism.

  It was what made him a star at fourteen. And had kept him in the limelight all this time.

  I fucking hated it.

  "So yeah," I went on, stepping further into the lot. "You basically missed it all."

  Jonah threw up his hands. "West Ridge was closed!" he complained, distress written in every line of his body. "I had to go all the way up to Johnson Bridge to get across."

  "It's been closed two years now," I said pointedly. "Ever since the flood."

  He pressed his lips together in frustration and hissed out a low breath of pissed-off recollection. "Right."

  "If you'd come home since then..."

  "I got it, Ruby," he interrupted, raking his hand through his dark hair. For one moment, his face was pure heartbreak, but he quickly smoothed it away and resumed his usual arrogant smirk. "Anything
else you want to say? Or can I go in and be with my family now?"

  "Yeah. I have something to say." I crossed my arms. "You should wait."

  "You said it was almost done. I don't want to miss it." He stepped to my side.

  I stepped right into his path.

  He was a full head taller than me now, something I never remembered about him until I saw him face-to-face.

  Or rather, face-to-collarbone.

  He glowered at me. Then stepped to the right.

  I countered him.

  "We should have had you in the band," he muttered. "You're a good dancer."

  “Ha.” I snorted.

  “Ruby.”

  I stepped into his path.

  “Let me by!”

  "No."

  "Ruby. He's my uncle."

  "And he was my best friend!" I blurted.

  He paused and looked down at me. "I thought my sister was your best friend."

  My voice broke. “She was. I mean, she is." Tenses were fucking me up. My words got ahead of my brain, coming out in a desperate, angry flood. "Gid is... he was a different kind of friend. Like more of a mentor… and I can't believe this!” I twisted my fingers together. “He was working on the school play just last week and telling me about the music he was writing for it and now he's gone and -.“

  The sobs I'd been holding back all through the service suddenly broke free. I dug the heels of my hands into my eyes, but the tears still flowed and all the while I was pissed at myself for choosing now to break down. The last thing I wanted to do was cry in front of Jonah King. I wanted to rage at him for too many reasons to even count right now.

  But instead of quailing under the force of my righteous fury - like he should have - he pulled me into a hug.

  I froze.

  His arms tightened around me. “It's okay," he soothed. I was pressed to close to his chest I could hear his heartbeat. “I know. I know. My uncle was a special guy, for sure."

  I stiffened. I didn’t want his comfort, but for some reason I couldn't push him away. I hated that I didn't start hitting him. I hated that I wasn't yelling at the top of my lungs for him to let me go. My brain raged, but my grief-stricken body didn’t seem to notice the difference between friend and foe.

  Because as he rubbed my back, my tears came harder and faster. I gulped great breaths, trying to stop my sobs and in the process filled my lungs with the smell of Jonah.

  He smelled fancier. Of course. But I could still detect a little trace of the familiar. When we were kids, he’d pass through the room where Willa, Sadie, Claire and I would be playing and that trace would linger in the air.

  I knew that scent. And I knew him too.

  Which was why my body sagged into his and I allowed myself to soak his shirt.

  But I hated him - and hated myself - the whole time I was doing it.

  "It's okay," he said again, more hesitant this time. I felt his arms tighten around me, his fingers sinking into the wool of my coat. Clinging, even. Like he needed my comfort as much as I needed his.

  His familiar scent was playing havoc with my memories, steeping his touch in tender nostalgia. My body didn't feel connected to my brain anymore.

  To my shock, I felt my own arms reach up and squeeze him.

  He exhaled in a rush and pulled back. The corner of his mouth tugged into that same studied smile I'd seen on posters and magazine covers my whole fucking life. "Thanks, Ruby. I think I needed that."

  And in one smooth motion, he stepped around me and bounded into the funeral home.

  “You are such a fucking asshole!” I shouted, sprinting after him. But his long legs carried him out of reach. He was through the vestibule before I could catch him.

  I stood there panting. Fuming. I’d wanted to protect the Kings and I’d failed. Now Gid’s funeral would be forever overshadowed by Jonah’s return.

  And on top of everything else, I had forgotten Izzy’s shoes.

  3

  Jonah

  I ran inside, convinced Ruby was deliberately making a scene to get sympathy. And I'd obliged her, enjoying the feel of her little body pressed against mine a lot more than I was expecting. But when I stepped into the vestibule, I realized she'd actually been telling the truth.

  I'd missed it.

  I'd fucking missed it.

  I felt the sick realization settle into my limbs, weighing me down. And then right after it came the dull detachment as I pulled back from that awful feeling, unready and unwilling to feel it fully yet. This was Gid's funeral and I'd fucked up and missed it. I knew the despair was going to hit me soon enough, but right now all I could do was sigh as I opened the second set of doors and entered the funeral home.

  The sickeningly floral smell hit me first - nothing natural or fresh smelling about those flower arrangements, they all smelled like they'd been spritzed with old lady perfume - and then the sound of scraping chairs and stretching bodies. The service was over and everyone was making to leave and no one seemed to be looking for me, or towards me, at all.

  It was odd. I couldn't remember the last time I entered a room without all eyes on me.

  The pissed off adrenaline over the closed bridge was slowly draining away, leaving behind a muddy sort of unreality. Half because I was in a funeral home and that was my Uncle Gid in a box over there. And half because I was back in Crown Creek and I hadn't seen any of these people in almost two years. I stood there for a moment, trying and failing to collect myself, to call on the years of being in front of an audience to pull myself together, but the old creeping anger was still raising the hairs on the back of my neck. And it only got worse when I caught sight of my brothers. I touched the flask in my back pocket. I'd filled it with the good shit when I'd left very my hotel in Ohio very early this morning, knowing I might need a lot of help to get through this day.

  Beau had been the one to call me, and at first I thought it was some kind of sick joke. Maybe a cheap trick to get me to come home and force a reconciliation with my brothers. I'd even been hoping that the closer I got to Crown Creek, because the alternative was too insane to bear. Uncle Gideon, dead? That couldn't possibly be true.

  That last hope had drained away when I pulled into the parking lot and saw my parents' car in the lot. Now all I had was detachment, and fucking despair.

  My sister Claire was the first to notice me hovering in the background. "JoJo!" she cried, in that voice of hers where you don't know if she's going to hug you or slug you.

  I let out a laugh that was more like an exhale than anything else. "Hey," was all I managed to say. The casket was looming there in the front. I couldn't take my eyes off it.

  "There you are!" my mother cried, immediately stepping past my blank faced brothers to fold me into her arms. She had a way of pulling you down into her hugs, trapping you in a hunched over posture that quickly grew uncomfortable, but there'd be hell to pay if you tried to wiggle out of her embrace. You had to let her hold you for as long as she needed.

  She needed to hold on to me a long while now. I sort of got it. I didn't mean to let two years go by without returning to Crown Creek. I really didn't. Not intentionally, anyway. It was just a matter of having a lot of work to do, being so damn busy carving out a solo career, rebuilding from the ashes of the King Brothers.

  "Hey there," I said to her, because what else was there to say? I tried to straighten up without disturbing my mother's hug and caught my father's eye. "Dad," I sighed. "I'm so sorry."

  My father blinked once and then nodded. He was never one for outward displays of affection, that was my mom's job. "You drive here?" he asked me.

  "There's really no other way to get all the way out here, right?" I replied, standing up as my mother finally released me. "Crown Creek isn't exactly a hotbed for public transit.

  Dad let the snarky comment slide. "How's your rental?"

  "It's fine, Dad."

  "Did you check the air pressure in the tires?"

  I blinked. "It's a rental. They do that for
you."

  "Jonah's used to having people do things for him." Gabe piped up, managing to smile wide enough that everyone laughed except me.

  "It's a rental," I repeated.

  But my Dad was already putting on his coat, mumbling about checking the oil. As he stepped aside, the casket came back into view again.

  I ducked past my sister's eager smile, my mom's sad one, and my brothers' uniform glowers. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the funeral director hovering, like a black-suited shadow. The service was most definitely over now, and they were probably waiting to whisk my uncle out of sight, down to the crematory to reduce him to nothing more than gray ashes.

  I swallowed back the bile this thought raised. Fuck it. They could wait. "I'm going up there," I told them all. "To say goodbye." If my brothers wanted to give me any kind of shit - whether about being late, being successful without them, or maybe just about the shoes I was wearing - they were going to have to do it while I was saying goodbye to my uncle.

  There was a kneeler set up by the side of the casket. I supposed it was there in case I wanted to say a prayer for Gid's soul, but he didn't need that from me. Better or worse, he was already headed to where he was ending up. This moment was all for me.

  I forced myself to look down at the body. The set of Gid's mouth was all wrong, and his hair was combed straight back all neat and proper like instead of falling all over the place like a gray-maned lion.

  "You look like shit, man," I said under my breath.

  This would have normally earned me a smart retort, maybe a smack on the back of the head and then an invite down to the shed for a jam session and a sip - "just a sip so your dad doesn't kill me" - from the 'good Scotch.' I'd had all different kinds of Scotch by now, but none had been so smooth, so perfectly balanced as the stuff my uncle would slip me.

  I blinked and then blinked again. Gid was the dad I should have had, I'd always secretly believed it. He was the one who'd given me my first guitar. He was the one who'd taught me to watch people's eyebrows so eye contact didn't freak me out, a trick I'd used in countless interviews since then. Gid had sat there quietly and listened to my dreams, and more than that, he'd told me I'd make them happen. Instead of telling me to be practical and have a back-up plan like the man I'd actually called Dad. Gid was my cheerleader, the only one who understood the all consuming ambition that drove me, and instead of calling me crazy, he'd celebrated it. Maybe he thought the music I played was shit - he'd definitely told me that once or twice or twenty times - but he always admired me for devoting my life to playing it.